


A Certain Tactile Sensitivity

by Tipper



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Angst, Challenge Response, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-11
Updated: 2001-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipper/pseuds/Tipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ezra is injured rescuing JD, the consequences threaten to destroy him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Certain Tactile Sensitivity

**Author's Note:**

> In a fit of pique at having a request ignored on a couple of archives to delete my full name from those sites, I deleted my website, which included about 75 M7 stories not posted anywhere else. It was rash and I'm sorry. So, these are all reposts. I'm starting with the shorter ones, because they're easier to revise.
> 
> This story was originally posted on July 11, 2001. It was a response to a challenge, the gist of which was to create some physical change to one of the Seven – sense disability, growing older, etc. -- and to see how they all react to it. This is definitely cliché and not a happy story, just to warn you, but it has a peaceful ending.

_This story was inspired by the following banter from the beginning of the episode "Vendetta:"_

EZRA: Draw poker. (He deals incredibly fast, the cards almost flying, not looking at what he's doing)  
NATHAN: How do you do that?  
EZRA: Well, over the years, I've acquired a certain, uh, tactile sensitivity.  
BUCK: A feel for stackin' the deck. (The others laugh)  
NATHAN: You deal those cards so fast, how do we know you didn't cheat?  
EZRA: You don't. (He grins)

_Love that little dribble. Moments like that made this show for me. Anyway, onto the story._  
______________________________________________________________________________________

Flaming debris crashed at his feet, the house cracking and burning down around him, unstoppable. His foot caught a beam and he tripped, smacking into the wall inside the back hallway. A large chunk of falling ceiling bounced off his shoulder, and he yelped, his shoulder on fire from the cascade of splinters. Slapping it with his hands to put it out, his panic caused him to breathe to deeply, and he choked. Coughing out smoke, he staggered deeper into the house, fighting the burning in his lungs, his eyes starting to water from the oppressive heat. 

_Where? …has to be here!_

The main room yawned before him, almost fully engulfed, and he squinted into the heavy smoke. He couldn’t see well enough. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted.

“JD!” 

It forced him to draw in air, and his lungs were strangled – he coughed harshly and nearly bent in two trying to recover. His head throbbed even worse than when he’d woken after being hit; pain squeezed his chest and throat as the air thickened and congealed, stealing all his oxygen. Keep going. No choice. He pushed into the room, climbing over flaming timbers and pieces of shattered glass.

“JD! Answer me!” He spotted the corner where he’d left the boy and Mrs. Carver near the small taproom bar, the table upended. He shoved a chair aside, climbing over another smoldering table to get closer. “JD, are you—? Aw, hell.” 

The kid’s head and upper body were visible to one side of the table, trapped under three heavy beams of wood, one of them burning with growing intensity. He was face down, with one arm curled around his head and the other stretched out before him as if, for a moment, he’d considered crawling to safety before falling unconscious. The three beams had formed a strange sort of lean-to over the kid, supported by the table on one side. His closeness to the bar had probably saved him from being crushed.

“Hang on,” Ezra called, jumping over more beams and sidestepping patches of burning floor. “I’m coming!” His foot went through some boards, earning him some pain in his ankle. Wincing, he pulled it free and kept moving until he was hunkered down next to the boy.

There was blood matting down the hair on JD’s skull, but otherwise he seemed unharmed. Getting his hands under the kid’s arms, Ezra heaved, straining at the movement. When JD didn’t move more than a little, he stopped, growling in frustration. Getting down on his knees, he peered between the beams--one of them was pressing down on the boy’s left leg, pinning it.

Standing, Ezra looked for only a moment at the three beams, including the one that was almost entirely engulfed in flames, before pressing his hands against the first and shoving it away. The angle of its lean gave him the leverage to push it aside fairly easily. Leaning over, he took a few smoke-filled breaths and looked at his hands, wishing for gloves. Frowning deeply, he took off his already smoldering jacket and, covering his hands with it, pressed them against the burning beam and shoved. 

It didn’t move. The jacket smoked and caught fire. Ezra cursed and let it go, tossing it to the side. A coughing fit hit then, it felt like he was shredding his throat trying to breathe! Shaking badly, his eyesight grayed—he had no time left. Hoping for a miracle, he pressed his bare hands against the burning wood and pushed. The pain was intense, but only for a second. His luck held--One mighty shove dislodged the beam, sending it crashing to the side, the solid wood sending up showers of sparks as it landed. Quickly, Ezra patted his trembling hands on his trousers and looked at the last beam.

Gulping for air that wasn’t there, Ezra leaned his shoulder into wooden beam – this was the one pinning JD -- and shoved one more time. It shifted, turned, and then landed back in its original position. The kid groaned.

Grimacing, Ezra got more of his shoulder under it and, once again, shoved with all his remaining strength.

It shifted, turned, teetered…then fell away with a mighty thump. Its weight brought down more debris and chaos from the burning structure, sending Ezra to the floor next to JD in a heap of wood, fire and muck. Everything went black and he forgot what he was doing.

“Ezra!” a voice shouted from somewhere far away. “JD!” 

He blinked, red light penetrating to clear his eyesight, and he remembered, fear galvanizing him. With his last shreds of intelligence, he pushed up onto one knee and pulled JD free. Lifting the kid up like a heavy rag doll, Ezra threw him over his shoulder and pushed back up onto his feet. He teetered, everything beginning to spin, but he could taste freedom and he had to move. 

Half limping, half running, he managed to make his way back to the front of the building, falling through the door to the outside.

“Ezra!” 

He looked up as Chris reached him, a blur of black, taking his precious burden from him. He let go willingly and collapsed to his knees, watching through burning eyes as Chris carried JD away. Then he was coughing and hacking as the black smoke and heat from the building rippled around and past him from the open door. He fell onto his side, reveling in the cool earth under his hands, his cheek.

“C’mon, pal, up you get. Gotta get you away from here,” said a voice by Ezra’s side. Blinking, he looked up as Buck wrapped an arm around his torso and pulled him back to his feet, momentarily stopping his coughing. In moments, Buck was half carrying him over to where Nathan was already working on JD. They stopped together, Ezra leaning heavily on his taller friend, coughing wetly, both watching as the healer pressed his head to the kid’s mouth, and then his chest. Tipping the boy’s head back, Nathan pinched his nose and blew deeply into the boy’s lungs.

“Is he…is he going to be all right?” Buck asked, his voice muffled in Ezra’s ears. It was a pointless question to ask right then; the gambler knew that, like trying to guess the first card in a shuffled deck. Didn’t matter. Nathan ignored them, simply continued to breathe for JD, one hand over the kid’s heart as if afraid the beat he’d heard there would fade.

And then, mercifully, JD coughed. Hacked might be a better word. The healer quickly tipped him up and the hacking grew rougher. Nathan muttered words Ezra couldn’t hear, rubbing JD’s heaving back, watching as the kid’s eyes fluttered and looked around blearily. 

“Nath—?” he asked, his voice cut off by another cough. Nathan smiled. 

“How you feeling?” he asked the boy.

“Like an elephant stomped on my chest.” JD coughed again, and reached up a hand to his head. “And is now dancing on my head,” he added miserably. Nathan smiled a grateful smile, and gently touched a purpling portion of the kid’s forehead. 

“What else hurts besides the head?”

“Can I tell you later?” JD asked, closing his eyes and coughing again. “Hurts too much to tell.”

“Sure.” Nathan just smiled again. “But first, can you recall—?“

“Got whacked upside the head while watching the Carvers,” JD said, his voice hoarse. “Mrs. Carver, I mean. Mister was with Ez. Woke up, place on fire, tried to escape, couldn’t. Stuck. Ran outta breath. Passed out. That’s all I got. Water?”

Nathan looked up at Ezra and Buck and nodded.

“I think,” the healer said, “he’ll be okay.”

Ezra smiled around his coughing, and he felt Buck sigh in relief. Ezra was then lowered to the ground next to JD, fingers finding the cold earth again. He saw Buck jog away to go help the others with the bucket brigade, and Ezra thought about calling after him, to tell him it was pointless. The boarding house was already dead. Nathan had found water, meanwhile, and was pressing it into JD’s hands. After drinking a cupful of water, the kid promptly fell asleep on his side, and Nathan rested a hand on his head, brushing back the black hair.

“What happened?” Chris asked, appearing from nowhere, so it seemed, and squatting down to look at the three men on the ground. The question was clearly pointed at Ezra, who was thinking that he wouldn’t mind some water himself.

They were on assignment from Travis, escorting prisoners to the territorial prison, as the judge made them do from time to time when it was slow. They traveled from town to town, picking up prisoners, filling the prison wagon they had with them. This round included a married couple – the Carvers -- accused of fraud. 

They were currently in the medium sized town of Johnston, where the jail had been too small to accommodate everyone. So the married couple, the least threatening of the bunch, were allowed to stay in the boarding house, under guard. JD and Ezra had been assigned to watch them while Chris, Nathan and Buck watched the ones at the jail. Josiah and Vin were both back in Four Corners.

Ezra gamely tried to answer properly, but his voice felt as strong as tissue paper, coming out in a whisper. “I left Mrs. Carver inside with JD while I escorted Mr. Carver to the outhouse,” he began. “As soon as I walked out the back door, someone accosted me from behind.” He speech felt weirdly slow, and he peppered the words with coughs, thinking that Chris was beginning to look rather blurry. “When I awoke, it was to see the boarding house on fire. I got inside, and all I saw was JD on the floor. I liberated him and…and that’s the end of it. Someone must have helped the Carvers to escape and lit the house on fire as a distraction.” He was slurring, he knew, but couldn’t seem to fix it. Nathan’s eyes narrowed.

“Wasn’t your fault,” Chris said, his brow furrowing as he studied Ezra, as if worried about something. “We’ll get them back.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Nathan asked, shifting closer. 

“No,” Ezra replied truthfully, as Nathan seemed to fade away in front of him. “Something's wrong.” He turned his attention to his hands, trying to figure out why they felt so heavy and fat. Nathan followed the gaze, and gasped.

“Chris! Get me a bucket of water! Hurry!” the healer yelled. Not even stopping to question, Chris leapt to his feet and ran to the bucket line.

“S’funny, I can’t really feel them. Why can’t I feel them?” Ezra whispered, before slumping forward and losing consciousness.  
________________________________________

The sun burned brightly down on Four Corners, warm and inviting. Inside the saloon, though, it was dark and cool.

Ezra stared down at the bandaged hands, his lips tightly stretched. It’d been almost two weeks since that night in Johnston. They’d gone straight to the prison the following day, which hadn’t been far by that time, and then ridden straight home—or rather, the others rode, while Ezra slept in the back of a wagon that JD and Nathan drove. The Carvers had disappeared without much of a trail, and, what with Ezra’s condition, they’d not had the desire to track them down. It seemed more important just to get Ezra home.

Nathan had been his constant companion almost the whole time. Cleaning his hands, hovering, watching for anything that might be wrong. If Ezra did anything with his hands other than keep them elevated (Nathan had strapped his arms to his chest to keep his hands above his heart for the first few days), the healer was there. And Ezra never complained. Never once said a word. This wasn’t something he felt he could ignore or shove off.

These were his _hands_.

Twice every day, Nathan had taken the bandages off and made Ezra do a series of exercises to move and stretch the healing skin while the healer washed his hands and looked for infection. It’d been painful and, though he’d not said a word, Ezra was terrified.

They were blistered, pink and sore – something Nathan had said was a good thing – and ugly as hell. The healer had cleaned away the blisters – which had hurt even more – and his skin had wept. Since Ezra refused to cry, it seemed fitting that his skin should do so. He knew instinctively that there would be scars, perhaps even permanent ones, but, even without that, what scared him the most was how unrecognizable they were, almost as if they weren’t really his. They were numbed by one of Nathan’s concoctions, but it was more than that. They were lost, even though he could see them in front of him. His hands were gone.

What if he didn’t get movement back? What if he couldn’t fire a gun or write a letter? What then?

And even if he got back movement, enough to at least fire a gun, would that be enough? He wondered if he would ever be able to feel the roughness of a marked deck under his fingers, to be able to manipulate the cards to deal in his usual style, to flip over the king or the ace from wherever they happened to be in the deck? The thought of that loss made him shiver, and he remembered that flippant conversation he’d once had with the others in the saloon, boasting about his “tactile sensitivity.”

He ached to touch the cards in his waistcoat, to pull them out and feel the coolness of their faces under his fingers; to get that slight tingling in his hands after he’d shuffled for too long; to realize that growing thrill as they flew from under his fingers as he dealt them around a table. They were his lifeline. When all else failed, he had always had the cards. They helped him think. They kept him honest and kept him sane. They were tied up so tightly with his soul that it seemed impossible to think he wouldn’t be able to do any of those things again.

His terror had made him quiet, and though he knew it unnerved the others, he couldn’t seem to do anything to help it. He had barely spoken since he woke up to find Nathan first wrapping bandages around his fingers in one of the rooms of the hotel in Johnston. His only words that first day had been for JD. The kid had been awake on the next bed, and staring at him with huge eyes. He’d thanked him, to which Ezra had smiled. 

It was the only thing stopping Ezra from going insane. The idea that it hadn’t been in vain. An easy trade, his hands for JD. Of course he would do it again

But Ezra kept quiet. Upon their return to Four Corners, he’d been silent as Josiah and Vin welcomed them back, merely nodding at them. Vin had teased, much as Buck had tried to do several times, trying to get a rise, but Ezra only ducked his head and retreated to his room over the saloon. Josiah had tried to talk to him, to get him to come out, but the younger man avoided him like the plague. He didn't want to talk. He didn’t want anything from them. He would come out to eat and for calls of nature, or to walk out into the countryside by himself, but that was it. 

And now two weeks were gone, and he knew the world was moving on without him. Time, life, was slipping away. He couldn’t seem to muster a smile, nor did a single frown crease his face. He was losing himself, and there was nothing he could do about it.

So he packed a bag.  
_____________________________________

“I have news,” JD announced, walking into the saloon. He found Buck, Chris and Vin sitting around a table, playing cards. Not surprisingly, Ezra wasn’t there. The gambler was rarely seen by any of them except Nathan now, and even then, he barely spoke. He was avoiding them all, especially Josiah, with single minded determination. He spent much of his time hiding, either in his room or outside of town. 

“Good or bad?” Buck asked, leaning back in his chair and tossing his cards on the table. 

“You foldin’?” Vin asked, eyeing them. Buck nodded and sighed. 

“It’s good news, I guess,” JD said. “The Carvers were arrested up in the Colorado territory for holding up a stage coach. Apparently, they had their two sons with them, a couple of teenagers, and the barkeep from that boarding house in Johnston. They’re being charged with arson and attempted murder on top of the original charges.” The kid gave a small smile and looked around. “I wanted to tell Ezra. Anyone seen him?”

“Not likely,” Buck muttered, shaking his head. “Two weeks with his hands like that, I’m surprised he’s even still around.”

“What’s the supposed to mean?” JD asked, moving forward to take a chair.

“Well, it’s clear he don’t want to be with us no more,” Buck said, reaching for his beer. “I keep expecting to go up to his room and find it empty.”

“He’s just keeping to himself, Buck,” Vin said, dropping a coin into the pot and nodding to Chris. “Don’t mean he wants to leave.”

“Hah,” Buck snorted. “You like to be by yourself, Vin, and so does Chris and Josiah. Me and Ezra, we’re not like you. If we’re quiet, then something’s wrong.”

“Something is wrong, Buck,” Chris muttered, tilting his head as he looked as his cards. “He’s hurtin’.”

“No, it’s more than just him feeling sorry for himself. Mark me, unless he comes back soon, or something else happens, he won’t come back at all.”

Chris pursed his lips and looked over at his oldest friend. Then those same eyes met Vin’s. After a moment, they lowered again and he lifted some coins off the table to throw into a pot.

“Well, if you’re right,” JD said, leaning forward in his chair, “then we should go find him. Bring him back. Where’s he at? The watering hole?”

“I don’t mean he needs to come back to the saloon, kid.” Buck stood up, walking over to the window to look out. “I meant…look, it’s hard to explain. Hell, Ezra’s hard to explain. I think it’s just something he has to work out on his own. If he wants to come back, he will. If not….” Buck frowned, leaning against wall next to the glass.

JD frowned. Confusion turned to anger, and he stood up abruptly.

“That’s bull! I’m going to go find him. This is all my fault, and I’m going to make up for it, you’ll see.”

Turning, he stomped out of the saloon and started running for the livery. He didn't see the faint smiles on his friend's faces as he left.  
______________________________________________

Ezra was sitting by the pond, on the small rock that overhung the water. He was wearing a shirt that was unbuttoned at the collar and a loose pair of breeches. The suspenders normally holding them up were loose by his sides. There was dirt on the sleeves, and his hair was unwashed and knotted by the wind. Gently, he was undoing the bandages on his hands, loosening them with his teeth then unwrapping them. 

Just as he freed the left from its cocoon, he heard the footsteps of someone approaching. With his hands in the state they were, Ezra hadn’t bothered with his gun belt or shoulder holster. So, unarmed, he just waited, part of him really not caring if the someone was friend or foe. Instead, he just looked at his pink palms, letting the fingers curl and uncurl, and ignoring the pain that came with it. 

“Ezra? You here?”

He sighed, and looked over to where he’d left Chaucer. JD led his own horse to a tree next to the chestnut colored horse. _Of course I am here_ , Ezra thought tiredly, _Chaucer didn’t tie himself to the tree_.

JD walked down by the water and peered around. After a moment, he spotted Ezra sitting up on the high rock and jogged around to the small path that led up to it. In moments, he was by Ezra’s side.

“Hey,” JD said.

Ezra inclined his head.

“Should you have taken the bandages off?” the kid asked softly, looking at the white material strewn to one side. Ezra shrugged, and then reached over to the small bag he had with him. JD stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“No, you shouldn’t be touching anything with those yet, remember? Let me.” Taking the bag out of Ezra’s reach, he opened it and took out the contents. Ezra’s face had momentarily darkened, but it subsided as JD placed the objects next to Ezra’s leg.

An apple, a small, sharp cutting knife, a deck of cards and his flask.

“Interesting things to take on a picnic,” the kid said, smiling softly. “Want me to cut the apple up for you?”

“I wasn’t going to cut the apple,” Ezra said. "It's for Chaucer."

“Oh.” JD frowned, obviously wondering, then, what the knife had been for.

Ezra sighed. “What are you doing here?” 

“I…well…I wanted to tell you that the Carvers were caught, along with their two sons. They’re the ones that started that fire and knocked us out.”

Ezra nodded. He didn’t care. 

“Do you want to know how?” JD asked.

Ezra shook his head. “But I appreciate the information.”

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome,” JD smiled and settled himself more comfortably. “I thought you’d want to know.” 

Ezra watched him a moment, and when the kid made no sign that he was going to leave, his expression darkened again.

“I said, thank you, Mr. Dunne. You can go now.”

JD swallowed nervously.

“No,” he said, “I can’t.”

Ezra looked away, not wanting to look into JD’s earnest face any longer.

“Ez, look, I just--I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Ezra stiffened slightly. “I don’t need your pity.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” the kid said quickly. He licked his lips, probably hoping Ezra would turn to look at him. When he didn’t, the kid plunged on regardless.

“What I meant,” he said, speaking slowly as if wanting to choose his words carefully, his hands picking at his trousers, “is that I’m sorry that this happened to you because of me. I know it’s my fault, and….” He trailed off when he realized Ezra had turned and was now staring at him intensely. “And--” He tried to start again, but it came out as a croak and he didn’t say anything more.

“JD, listen to me," Ezra said. "This is not your fault, nor is it mine. It simply happened. So, please, before you say anything else, I want you to repeat that to me first.”

JD stared at him, his eyes sparkling with water. “But it _is_ my fault, and, if you leave, it will all be because you wanted to save me.”

Ezra shut his eyes, and shook his head. “JD--”

“Don’t leave because of me. Please.”

“It’s not you, I—“

“Are you going to leave?”

Those green eyes opened, but they weren’t looking up at the boy. Instead, they were looking at the odd assortment of items on the rock. 

“I don't know.” He drew in a breath and held out a shaking hand. “Will you hand me the cards please?”

The kid hesitated, clearly not wanting to do anything that might damage Ezra’s hands further. But something must have changed his mind, because after the pause, he picked up the packet of cards almost reverentially and opened the box, dropping the cards into Ezra’s hands. 

The gambler held them for a moment, then turned them over. He let them slide into his other hand loosely, then, with a little more confidence, cut them in half and worked the two halves together in a plain shuffle. His fingers felt along the edges slowly, and a smile formed on Ezra’s face. With the smile still there, he held them out to JD.

“Thank you,” he said. “You can put the rest of these items away now as well. I won’t be needing them.”

JD’s lips parted in confusion, but he shut them again and put the cards back. Then he put the other items into the bag and drew it closed by the drawstring. Ezra continued to smile, his expression almost bemused as he looked out over the pond.

JD put the bag down and sat, just waiting. After a long pause, Ezra finally spoke.

“Nathan told me that, by the time two weeks had gone, I’d know one way or another if my hands would heal properly. I’d be able to tell what sort of damage might have been done. It’s been two weeks. And I know now.”

“And?”

Ezra’s smile grew. JD instantly matched it, his excitement palpable. 

“So, this mean you’re not going to leave?” he asked, not hiding the hope in his voice.

“Leave? Of course not. I have two weeks’ worth of my friends’ pay to liberate. I’d be a fool to leave such a bounty behind.”

“Yee-ha!” the kid fell back, lying on the rock with his hands behind his head. Ezra laughed, looking down at his hands again and then at the bag next to JD. The kid watched as the other man’s smile slipped, then faded quickly, and his own faded as well. Ezra’s gaze turned back to the water.

“JD?” he said quietly, all joviality gone.

“Yeah?”

“You must know that, no matter what had happened here, if I had left, it wouldn’t have been your fault.”

JD’s brow furrowed, obviously not sure how to reply to that.

“JD, please.” Ezra felt a little sick. “Would you have known that?”

JD shook his head. “No. I would…I will always feel responsible.”

Ezra’s jaw tensed, and he looked down at the small bag. “I see. Will you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Will you please take the knife out of that bag and break it for me?”

JD pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked curiously at Ezra. “Huh?”

“I would then consider it a great favor if you would dispose of it.”

JD just stared at him, then, with a dark expression, he nodded. Sitting up, he opened the bag, took out the knife, and pressed it against his leg. With a little pressure, the blade snapped in half. He then scraped the knife’s edges on the rock to dull them. After a few moments, apparently convinced they were dulled, he threw them into the middle of the large pond. To be forgotten.

“Thank you,” Ezra said, feeling the sickness inside him go away. “And, for your information, even if I hadn’t felt those cards on my fingers, I still wouldn’t have used that knife. And that’s because of you. I thank you for that as well.”

JD stared at the pond, as if mesmerized by the ripples caused by the thrown knife. After a moment, they had faded to nothing, and all was still again across the cold water.

“You scare me sometimes, Ez,” JD said softly. 

“Yes, well,” Ezra gave a small smile, “you scare me too.” He huffed a laugh, and looked at his hands. “Meanwhile, could you help me bandage these back up? I think it’s time we went back to town and got ourselves a couple of stiff drinks, don’t you?”

JD grinned. “Always.”

Ezra matched the grin. Yes. Always.


End file.
